


mother nature cried, "you are leviathan inside"

by spangel



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angel's POV, Character Study, Death Symbolism, M/M, Purple Prose, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, SYMBOLISM E V E R Y W H E R E, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangel/pseuds/spangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The (seventeenth) (fifteenth) (twentieth) (hundredth) second time that Spike dies, he is human and he is d e a d in a hospital bed and all you can hear is <i> oh, oh no, </i> and the beeping, the pounding, of the hospital machines in your ear.</p><p> </p><p>And then it all stops, and they take him (his body) away, and you just want to know <i> why. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	mother nature cried, "you are leviathan inside"

You're sitting in the dark, somewhere with no roads or pathways. The blood-dirt cakes up to your elbows, and you're frozen, _paralyzed_ , and thinking about him, _needing him_  - maybe he will save you, this time. 

 

You're not really sure what happened, but the floor is hot and the burns begin to grow, up your rib-cage, around your neck, and your name is:

 

  * Death. Or maybe that's his name, or maybe that's your name, or maybe that's his name, or maybe that's your name. Stand 



up. Sit 

           down. Stand

up. Sit

            down.

 

(You can't even move. How pathetic.)

 

Your name is Death, and you are walking (stand up) (sit down) and you are singing  _come and find me, I am here, I am waiting._ You've lost your mind, you've lost your name, and now: you have to name yourself, so your name is:

 

  * Purity. Wings. Purity. Wings.



 

An angel, with wings that have been torn out, leaving protruding bones and charred flesh.

 

 _Yes_ , you are an angel. That's the answer, that is the truth,  _yes_ you were pure once,  _yes_ the only thing about you, now, that remains pure is your wings, and they're gone. Your wings are gone, and they've taken you along with it, and your name is (not Angel, not anymore):

 

  * the End. Your name is The End, and this is the end. The end of you. The end of him. The end of something. It doesn't matter anymore - it's all the same, it's this vague, omnipresent sense of fear that runs stomach-deep inside of you.



 

He shows up a few days (/weeks /months /years) later and picks you up and mutters something about  _next time, I'm leaving you to die_ but you know there won't be a next time and you know he'll always come back for you, always - crawling, skinned knees, or walking, panting.  _B e g g i n g._

* * *

 

 

You tell him about the names, and about your wings, and he thinks you're delirious, delusional, and maybe  _you are,_ but this is _important_ and he is  _not listening,_ and you must be losing it again because his eyes flash gold for a moment and suddenly you're him again, suddenly you're two/four/six/eight/twelve/one hundred deaths (Deaths), walking. Suddenly you are him, you are moving his limbs and holding him up, shifting  _his_ weight from foot to foot.

 

He looks at you with concern shadowing his face, and you're back in reality (oh) ( _reality_ ).

 

"You had... wings?"

 

"I guess," you shrug. "They were so pure, and they were the only pure thing about me. I am an abomination. And I wanted to fly away, but I couldn't."

 

Spike takes your hand in his own. "Whoever did this to you is going to pay. I'll kill them."

 

"What?"

 

"Angel," he sighs, "someone hurt you. I looked for you for a very long time, and I couldn't find you. I don't know what happened, and you probably don't, either. I'm sorry."

 

"You..." You can't get the words out. "You... looked for me?"

 

"I will always look for you. You annoy the fuck out of me, but I - I can't - you're  _important_ to me. Okay?"

 

* * *

 

 

You remember that you are tied up and bound, and there's fire against your skin and your insides have been folded out, and someone is telling you to  _pray_ and someone is telling you that you are _unholy_ and you are saying, "I know." _  
_

 

_I know._

 

You remember that you are whispering Spike's name into the wind and into the blood-dirt.

 

You remember that you  _are_ and that you are  _waiting_ and you're stuck in a seemingly endless loop of  _waiting_ and _wanting._

 

The first time that Spike dies, you are sitting, on your skinless knees, over a pile of dust, and the loop ends, and the loop starts and the loop ends ( _waiting_ ) and the loop ( _wanting_ ) starts and the ( _waiting_ ) loop ends. Over and over, like a:

 

drug overdose, like a:

 

mental image, like a:

 

reminder that whatever you touch will die, that you are Death and fear and you touch  _Spike,_ of all things that you can touch. And you're impure, like a:

 

broken wing, like a:

 

fallen creature of God.

 

The (seventeenth) (fifteenth) (twentieth) (hundredth) second time that Spike dies, he is human and he is d e a d in a hospital bed and all you can hear is  _oh, oh no,_ and the beeping, the pounding, of the hospital machines in your ear.

 

And then it all stops, and they take him (his body) away, and you just want to know  _why._

 

* * *

 

 

The ninth time that

Spike dies, he dies with his head

resting against your chest.

 

You wake up covered in dust.

 

You are here for Spike's tenth death, and you are here for all of his deaths. He (he He he He) makes you watch, pulls back your eyelids and knows that Spike's weakness is your weakness and you are Spike and you are everything and you are Nothing.

 

He (he) is Spike, except he isn't.

 

It's all very confusing. Your captor wears Spike's face, or you want to see Spike again, like a hunger deep inside of you, so much that you begin to see him  _everywhere._

 

(eighteen)

(nineteen)

(fifty-two)

(zero)

(z e r o) you are running out of Time. 

 

 _tick,_ goes the clock, and you are

 

here for Spike's final death, the Real one, the one where he doesn't come back, like he comes back for you always. He goes off somewhere, and flies away. They pull him down to Hell, finally, and they tell you that he is at rest and peaceful but that is

 

_tock_

 

a lie, you know that it is a lie. Hell is never peaceful. You know this, you have been to many hells.

 

_tick_

 

Spike starts to disappear, fade, into you, into the burns on your chest-ribs-body. Spike, the Real, genuine, not-dead-never-dead-already-dead-but _-alive_ Spike, looks at you and takes your face in his hands and says, "I missed you," and you know immediately that you are floating, somewhere, somewhere that Spike is and Spike _is_ and that's all that matters.

 

He is alive (but not.)

 

He is okay.

 

_tock._

 

* * *

 

You are young and they make you memorize the Bible and you go to church and you are taught to never touch other boys in a way that God would disapprove of, so you don't, and you learn that this is Bad and that you are Bad and this is the first time that you are an abomination and this is the first time that the feathers on your wings turn dark.

 

You learn that you don't care.

 

* * *

 

 

_The LORD is a jealous God, filled with vengeance and wrath.  He takes revenge on all who oppose him and furiously destroys his enemies!  The LORD is slow to get angry, but his power is great, and he never lets the guilty go unpunished.  He displays his power in the whirlwind and the storm._

 

* * *

 

 

You are listening for the drop, for the audience roar, or for  _something,_ but Spike is still dead, or alive, and you don't know which one is worse.

 

Dead/Alive.

 

And you are  _listening,_ but nothing happens, and Spike is still dead, or alive, and you don't know which option is worse - choose the BEST answer:

 

A: Spike is alive, and he's watching you, and you want him and you  _want him_ and he is  _looking for you,_ and everything is o k a y. 

B: Spike is dead, and he's watching you, and you want him and you miss him and he's nothing more than dust, or a corpse, or the person who died when you let the Real Spike shine and Become the monster that he was destined to be.

C: "Drusilla sired me, but you... you made me a monster."

D:  He is both alive and dead, and breathing and bleeding. He is the abomination, and not you.

 

Tá tú i ngrá, agus nach bhfuil tú i ngrá agus nach bhfuil tú ag iarraidh a bheith i ngrá, ach tá tú ag Cruinniú e. Is é seo an deireadh, agus tá do ainm An Deireadh. Gur mhaith leat féachaint ar áit dó bás, ná a bheith i ngrá.

 

* * *

 

 

"I love you," you tell Spike, when the memories stop.

 

"I love you, too. I'm glad you're back."

 

"Thanks for looking for me, Spike."

 

 _I'dneverleaveyou,_ he says, and Spike is alive and Spike  _is._ You are back. You are  _back,_ because he says that you are back and you are going to pretend that you were never tortured, and you are going to pretend that you never dreamed about Spike rescuing you.

 

 _I'dneverleaveyou,_ he says, and it stops. Everything stops.

 

The clock stops. You have Time, now.

 

He stops dying.

 

You stop.

 

 _I'dneverleaveyou,_ he says, and means it.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Mother nature cried,
> 
> "You are leviathan inside"
> 
> Mother nature sighed, 
> 
> "What hell is this I made this time?"" - Pieta // St. Vincent
> 
> This is a ...... mess. The Irish part translates to: "You are in love, and you are not in love and you do not want to be in love, but you a r e. This is the end, and your name is The End. You'd rather watch him die, than be in love."


End file.
